


Of Broken Nails and Velvet-Lined Boxes

by DT Maxwell (Draya)



Series: Of Dancing Shadows and Glittering Eyes [4]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: Ambition: Light Fingers, Buried Alive, Canon-Typical Violence, Claustrophobia, Gen, Serious Injuries, Spoilers, The Orphanage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draya/pseuds/DT%20Maxwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aliénor and Soft-as-Midnight navigated the labyrinth, infiltrated the Orphanage at its end... And then weren't quite so successful at keeping from being noticed.</p>
<p>Poor Edward keeps his promises.</p>
<p>(The immediate follow up to <em><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7246651">Of Curiosity and Satisfaction</a></em>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Broken Nails and Velvet-Lined Boxes

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to my tumblr in March 2016.
> 
> I enjoyed writing this a little more than I should have, probably. I took my inspiration from the storylets of the unique failure state for Ambition: Light Fingers, but did my best not to quote anything. The words are, to the best of my knowledge and ability, my own.

Aliénor couldn’t see anything when she woke up. And she couldn’t move, either - well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She _could_ , but not much.

She was in a very small, enclosed space, best she could tell. And she was laying on something…soft. A cautious exploration with her fingertips revealed the familiar brush of velvet. It lined the sides, too, and turning her hands up to feel the top of the space revealed more velvet, too-

Oh, God.

Ali felt panic begin to bubble up in her chest as realization settled in her mind, her eyes widening in the dark.

Oh dear God.

“You know what happens now,” Poor Edward had crooned before knocking her unconscious.

_Oh God oh God oh God  oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God-_

Ali screamed.

She didn’t know for how long she screamed, but eventually she realized something soft was pressing against the side of her head and… vibrating?

Oh dear God, it was Midnight, Midnight was with her in the cof- no no no she was not going to even _think_  that word no no no no no no _no_.

Ali sniffled. “Midnight?” Her voice was a warbling, hoarse croak.

In response, Midnight very carefully crawled closer and curled into the space between her neck and shoulder. The cat placed her head on Ali’s throat, and continued purring.

Ali turned her head to bury her face in Midnight’s fur. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Shhhhh,” Midnight murmured.

Ali sobbed against Midnight’s rumbling sides until she fell asleep.

**

Ali didn’t sleep long, of course.

She clawed at the velvet above her for a while, teeth clenched tightly until her jaw ached to keep her screams from escaping. She yanked, and she tugged, and she dug, until the thick fabric hung in tatters and her nails were broken and bleeding. And then she clawed at the newly exposed heavy wood, until there were splinters under every one of her nails and searing agony forced her to drop her hands from the lid.

Midnight didn’t bother to stop her. The queen cat was too busy ripping and shredding the velvet beneath them with her own claws, purring a broken thread of anxiety into the stale air around them.

**

She had never seen leafless trees on a far bank, never sailed the Silent River, never played chess with the Boatman. Now seemed as good a time as any to remedy that.

Ali smashed her head into the top of the box.

And again.

And again.

And _again._

And **_again._**

She didn’t stop when her head began to throb and the skin on her forehead turned raw. She didn’t stop when she started seeing starbursts and her skin broke. She didn’t stop when blood started to pour into her eyes.

Ali  _did_  stop when Midnight put her chin on her throat again, dazed and aching and trying to process the sensation of the cat pressed against her. And realized, with a moan of horror, that if she continued, she would be leaving Midnight _alone._

Ali would not do that. She _could not_  do that. Not to Midnight.

Choking on another bout of sobs, Ali pushed her face into Midnight’s fur again, though it was tacky from her earlier tears, and whispered broken apologies into the suffocating dark.

**

At some point, Ali started screaming again. It took her a while before she noticed.

Midnight had stopped purring a long time ago. She merely buried her face in Ali’s hair and shook.

**

She’d stopped screaming, but only because her throat finally gave out. The box instead was filled with Ali’s low, eerie, reedy keens.

**

Eventually, Ali stopped keening, too.

**

Her face and hair were sticky with sweat and mucus and dried tears and blood. Her fingers ached. Her eyes felt swollen. Panic still sat low in her stomach, and her hands trembled violently, sending bolts of pain up her arms at irregular intervals.

Ali felt unconsciousness tug at her, and let herself slip into restless darkness.

Her dreams were filled with frost-moths.

**

Ali felt something prod at her shoulder. “Whassit, Mi’nigh?” she slurred. Her tongue felt too-large and heavy, as if it had turned to lead.

Midnight rumbled wordlessly on her left.

…But the prodding had been at her _right._

Ali opened her eyes. “Mi’nigh, sumthin’ ‘s pokin’ my righ’ shoul’er.”

The cat lifted her head and sniffed at the sour, too-warm air. “A plant root,” she said, finally. “I think.”

“Wha’ t’ hell.”

“…It smells like that enormous plant of yours.”

“Wha’ t’ _hell.”_ Ali managed to curl her right up arm in the confined space of the cof- of the _box,_ grunting as her fingers began to throb anew, and gingerly prodded back at the root at her shoulder.

The root stilled, and then suddenly the wood of the box began to creak and groan and break as more of the root pushed its way inside and began to wrap around her shoulder and upper arm. Then the entire box started shaking, and more roots burst through.

“Oh mercifu’ Chris’ b’low,” Ali squeaked, lifting her left arm to scrabble frantically for Midnight. The cat practically _slithered_  in her haste, curling up on Ali’s chest and pressing her face to Ali’s neck as Ali managed to yank her right arm down and use both to hold Midnight close. All the while, more and more roots poured in through ever-widening holes and wrapped themselves around her arms and shoulders and upper chest.

With a last shriek of shattering wood, the coffin burst apart entirely, and Ali and Midnight were being dragged through the earth at high speed. Ali kept her head ducked best she could, trying to keep her face in her Midnight’s fur, but it couldn’t entirely prevent her from breathing in or swallowing soil.

And then suddenly they broke into open air. Ali started choking and heaving, trying to expel the dirt from her lungs, but oh God, the air of the Neath had never tasted so sweet, and she took in as many deep breaths as she could once her airways cleared. Midnight wiggled out of her hold and flopped into an undignified heap of limbs and fur in her lap, taking similar lungfuls of fresh air.

The roots had mostly loosened their hold, but a few remained, mostly supporting her back and helping her stay upright. Ali cracked her eyes open, and saw the comforting sights of the parlor of her suite of rooms deep in the cellars of Old Newgate. The rest of the roots had retreated back into the earth, and the vines of her perennial ‘roommate’ were packing the earth back into place, smoothing the floor and helpfully dragging over one of her rugs to cover the spot.

Another vine came into her personal space, the leaves curling in such a way that they seemed to radiate prideful anticipation.

Ali reached up with one hand to gently pat the vine. “Good plant,” she managed to croak, gently dragging her index finger along the length of one of the leaves. Midnight _mrowl_ ed her agreement.

As the vine and last of the roots retreated, Ali flopped over backwards, laying spread eagle on the wonderfully cool, bare stone of her parlor and stretching out her limbs as far as she could. Midnight wobbled upright and staggered out of the mess of her skirts to sprawl similarly on the floor. Both of them reveled in the open space and clean air, each breathing deeply and listening to the quiet rustle of leaves as the plant's main stalk swayed gently to some unheard tune.

After a long while, Ali finally said, “I am gunna _gut_  tha’ bastard with m’ bare hands.”


End file.
